A Ballad Poem by Anne MacVicar Grant

OH , soft and sweet the evening sun
Was gleaming o'er the meadows green,
The ploughman's weary task was done,
And peaceful was the scene.
I musing wander'd o'er yon height
'Where broom bloom'd fair to view;'
Whose yellow blossoms gaily show'd
O'er violets darkly blue.
A little higher up I spy'd
A roofless castle grey,
Where rooks and daws in clam'rous crowds
Retir'd at close of day.
A fenceless garden's sad remains,
All ruin'd and decay'd,
And trees, whose branches scorch'd by fire
Refus'd both fruit and shade.
Two shrubs in vernal pride remain'd,
Fenc'd by their native thorn,
And bore the fragrant milk-white rose
By YORK'S proud faction borne.
There, seated by a ruin'd tow'r,
An ancient dame I view'd,
Who with a pensive, tranquil sigh
Survey'd the fragments rude.
'And why, untouch'd by wasting time,
'Did that fair pile give way?
'And who are you that lonely mourn
'The stately towr's decay?
'And why does still that cherish'd rose
' 'Midst desolation bloom?
'And in this lonely waste forlorn,
'Diffuse its soft perfume?'
'Oh, long must I unpitied mourn,
'Where mouldering tow'rs decay;
'Fierce were the flames that scorch'd their walls,
'And fatal was the day.
'And long must tears in silence shed,
'Bedew that rose so fair;
' 'Twas planted in the dawn of hope,
'For royal brows to wear.
'My master was a Chief renown'd
'In manhood's active prime;
'My lady was for ev'ry worth
'Unequall'd in her time.
'Her father was a wily lord,
'Well skill'd in dangerous art,
'(But truth, and love, and goodness filled
'His daughter's gentle heart.)
'With crafty lore he led our Chief
'A hopeless cause to join;
'To seat on Britain's throne a Prince
'Of STUART'S hapless line.
'See where the vollying bolt of heaven
'Yon blasted oak has torn;
'Shall weeping dews, or genial springs,
'Those boughs with leaves adorn?
'Or have you seen the lofty flow'r,
'That turns to meet the sun;
'And did it spread its yellow leaves
'When his bright course was run?
'They strove to plant the wither'd oak,
'And water'd it with gore:
'They spread the tender leaves of hope
'When fortune smil'd no more.
'How short, how gay, how bright the smile,
'That cheer'd their morning ray!
'How dark, how cold, how loud the storm,
'That raging clos'd their day.
'On Gladsmuir's heath a comet's blaze
'Deceiv'd their dazzled sight;
'On bleak Culloden's bloody moor,
'It sunk in endless night.
'Why should I tell what noble blood
'The sable scaffold stain'd?
'Why should I tell what generous hearts
'Ignoble fate disdain'd?
'I see thy dim and dewy eyes,
'And spare thy aching heart;
'For in my various tale of woe
'Thy kindred bore a part.
'When to the forest's deep retreats
'My outlaw'd master fled;
'While vengeance took a deadly aim
'At his devoted head:
'The ruthless Duke's fell mandate came,
'And ruin spread around:
'Our Chieftain's halls were wrapt in flames,
'With flames the turrets crown'd.
'High on yon rock, that to the North
'Erects its aged head,
'Hard by the screaming goshawk's nest
'He made his pendent bed.
''Twas from yon trembling aspin's boughs
'That wave so high in air,
'He saw the wasting flames ascend,
'In silent stern despair.
'But fury shook his manly frame,
'And sorrow wrung his heart,
'When from the crashing roof he saw
'The burning rafters part.
'On yon bleak hill that fronts the North,
'My lady sat forlorn;
'In fear she left her home, to shun
'The lawless soldier's scorn.
'With meek and silent awe she sat,
'And piously resign'd;
'Fierce blaz'd her castle through the gloom,
'Loud blew the eastern wind.
'Oh lady, shun the chilling blasts
'That pierce thy tender form:
'Oh shun this dreary sight of woe,
'And shun the midnight storm.'
'The lady wip'd her streaming eyes,
'And rais'd her drooping head;'
'Ah! where can I a shelter find?'
'In broken words she said;'
'The owl that 'plains from yonder wood
'May slumber in her nest;
'The fox that howls from yonder hill,
'Within his cave may rest;
'But I, alas! without a home,
'Must brave the chilling air:
'My friends are fall'n beneath the sword
'That never knew to spare.
'The fire devour'd my father's halls,
'Stern vengeance drank his blood;
'And loudly on my consort calls
'To swell the purple flood.
'And can I seek a sheltering roof,
'Or social comfort taste,
'While he a lonely alien shrinks,
'Hid in the dreary waste?'
'Blow higher winds, blaze fiercer flames,
'Rise o'er thy limits Spey ;
'No stronger pang my heart can feel
'At nature's last decay.'
'Successive summer suns beheld
'My lady's withering prime;
'But on her lord no sun e'er shone
'In his cold native clime.
'In gloomy caves he past the day,
'And by the taper's light
'Consum'd the lonely studious hours,
'And hop'd the coming night:
'Then, when the world in slumber lay,
'Through midnight darkness stole,
'And in my lady's faithful breast
'Repos'd his sorrowing soul:
'Or, fondly gazing while he slept,
'Hung o'er his infant son;
'And lingering, blest th' unconscious babe
'Till glimmering dawn begun:
'Or, when the live-long winter night
'Had lull'd the spies of pow'r,
' 'Midst faithful friends a gleam of joy
'Shone on the social hour.
'With eager search the watchful bands
'His secret haunts explor'd;
'And many a faithful vassal knew
'The caves that hid their lord.
'At last, with sad reluctant sighs,
'He left the British strand:
'And sore my lady wept to leave
'Her darling son on land.
'Upon the sea-beat coast of France
'We dwelt in mournful guise;
'And saw afar, like hovering clouds,
'Our native land arise.
'Not long upon that alien shore
'My banish'd master pin'd;
'With silent grief we saw his corpse
'To common earth consign'd.
'No pibroch led the loud lament,
'No funeral train appear'd;
'No bards, with songs of mighty deeds
'The hopeless mourners cheer'd.
'When midnight wore her sable robe,
'We dug his humble grave;
'Where fair Narcissus droops its head,
And darkest poppies wave.
'We strew'd the tomb with rosemary,
'We water'd it with tears;
'And bade the Scottish thistle round
'Erect his warlike spears.
'And soon we left the fatal spot,
'And sought our native shore;
'And soon my lady blest her son,
'And clasp'd her o'er and o'er.'
'On thee, my son, (she fondly cried)
'May happier planets shine;
'And may'st thou never live to brook
'A fate so hard as mine:
'And may'st thou heir thy father's worth,
'But not his hapless doom;
'To honour and thy country true,
'May'st thou his rights resume.
'And when my weary eyes shall close,
'By death's long slumber blest,
'Beside my dear-lov'd, long-lost home,
'For ever let me rest.'
'She spoke, and died--in yonder grave
'Her dear remains are laid:
'Let never impious murmur rise
'To grieve her hovering shade!'